


this bright millennium

by soundsandsweetairs



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: (username change fyi), Hurt/Comfort, Multi, it is a CRIME that there is not more fic for this ship, mostly canon-compliant, movie and musical lyric references ahoy!, the three of them are so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundsandsweetairs/pseuds/soundsandsweetairs
Summary: “Quasimodo, I need your help.”Esmeralda brings a wounded Captain Phoebus to the bell tower.
Relationships: Phoebus de Châteaupers/Esméralda | Esmeralda/Quasimodo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	this bright millennium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BannedBloodOranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/gifts).



Paris was on fire. 

Quasimodo looked out over the rooftops in despair. Esmeralda was out there, and the entire city guard was searching for her. He paced along the walkway by the bell tower, running his hand over the rough brickwork of the balustrade. The stone saints and gargoyles were a comforting presence behind him, the eyes of Notre Dame peering out into the red-tinged night. He was useless, trapped up here, but he couldn’t possibly venture out! After all, the last time he had disobeyed his master’s orders, the consequences had been severe. 

Flames reflected on the smooth surface of the Seine as the night marched onward, pitiless. How would he even know if something had happened to his beloved Esmeralda? She might be dead, discovered and cut down by some member of the city guard, and he might never hear a word of it! Tears pooled in his eyes until the city was a blur of spark and shadow. It was hopeless.

A clear voice rang through the bell tower. “Quasimodo?”

He spun around. _Esmeralda._ Her face was streaked with soot, but she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Quasimodo felt weak with relief. He rushed over to her and took her hands, which were trembling. It was a miracle that she had made it here unscathed, through the watchful eyes of the guards stationed throughout the city.

Her eyes were huge and pleading. “Quasimodo, I need your help. I didn’t know where else to bring him — I thought he’d be safe here.” She stepped aside, and Quasimodo saw the limp form of Captain Phoebus, supported by a Roma man, who looked around the bell tower nervously. 

Quasimodo’s heart sank. The Captain of the Guard? Here, in his sanctuary? What was she thinking? “Esmeralda—”

“Please, Quasimodo. He was wounded trying to help me.” 

He looked again at Esmeralda’s beseeching face and Phoebus’s deathly stillness. Was there anything he wouldn’t do, if Esmeralda asked it? With a sigh, he nodded. The Roma man handed Phoebus off to Quasimodo and quickly left the cathedral at a glance from Esmeralda.

Quasimodo lifted Phoebus as if he weighed nothing and carried him over to his bedroll, laying him down as gently as he could. He looked at his still body in despair. He hadn’t wanted to get involved in any of this! How on earth would he keep his master from finding out?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Quasimodo.” Esmeralda’s face was shadowed with exhaustion when he looked up at her. What a long night it must have been for her!

He put his hand over hers. “He can stay here, but I’m not a doctor. I’m not sure how to help him.”

“Well, we’ll just do our best.” They shared a tired smile. 

Phoebus groaned as he shifted. The shoulder of his shirt was wet with blood. Esmeralda reached over to pull away the fabric. Quasimodo hissed when he saw the wound. It was deep and ragged, but appeared to have avoided his heart. Blood was pulsing slowly out of it.

“I think we’ll have to stitch it closed.” Esmeralda’s voice was firm. Quasimodo glanced over at her to see her mouth set in a grim line. “Will you hold him for me?”

Thank goodness she seemed to know what to do. “Of course,” he responded. 

Quasimodo ran a hand over Phoebus’s shoulder as Esmeralda prepared the supplies to stitch the wound shut. His skin was very warm; Quasimodo hoped that the wound wasn’t on its way to becoming infected.

“This might sting.” Esmeralda gave little notice before splashing alcohol from a small flask over Phoebus’s shoulder. Phoebus jerked and yelled. His eyes shot open. 

“Shh, shh.” Quasimodo hushed him and looked around nervously. He thought that the cathedral was likely empty, this deep into the night, but they couldn’t chance someone overhearing and coming to investigate.

“A good vintage, that,” Phoebus gritted out. All three of them laughed weakly. It was some small comfort, that he was lucid enough to joke.

Quasimodo took Phoebus’s hand. “Hold tight. You’re going to be fine.” He hoped it wouldn’t be a lie. 

Quasimodo felt a shudder go through Phoebus’ arm as Esmeralda began stitching. He focused on Phoebus’s face; he didn’t think he could bear to watch as Esmeralda worked to close the wound. His brow was furrowed in pain, and his usually handsome features were contorted. Quasimodo gripped his hand with all the strength he could muster. 

“Thank you,” Phoebus hissed through clenched teeth. Quasimodo nodded back.

It seemed to take forever. Quasimodo thought that he could almost feel Phoebus’s agony, as clearly as it was written across his face. Finally—

“Done!” Esmeralda snipped the thread and immediately pressed a cloth to the wound. Phoebus was panting lightly. His skin shimmered with sweat in the candlelight. Quasimodo squeezed his hand. Phoebus smiled weakly at him and squeezed back. 

“You should be alright now — just rest, I’ll bandage the wound.” Esmeralda’s voice was calming and competent as she wiped the blood on her hands onto a spare rag. 

Quasimodo stood and began to clean up, tossing the bloody rags into a basin to wash later. He dusted his fingers past the little figurines that populated his model of the city as he walked over to bolt the tower door. At least the Paris up here, the Paris that lived vivid and lovely in his mind, was pristine and unburned. No matter what happened outside, they were safe up here for the night.

He turned back to see Esmeralda brushing Phoebus’s hair away from his face. _Oh._ The flickering candles cast a glow around them, as if a light from Heaven itself was shining down on them. 

Quasimodo looked away from them, shamefaced. Here was something he could never have — something he couldn’t even let himself want. They were both so beautiful. 

He could feel himself shrinking back into the shadows. He wasn’t meant for this. The idea of either of them looking over at him and understanding the guilty look on his face — feeling pity for him — was utterly unbearable. Perhaps, if he pretended to be made of stone like the gargoyles, they’d somehow forget he was there. He lowered his eyes. He’d just take a moment to gather himself, then he’d be alright. 

“Quasimodo.” Esmeralda’s voice broke through the stillness of the tower, low and kind. He looked up in surprise. She was holding out her hand to him. 

His eyes flickered between the two of them. Phoebus’s face was lined with pain, but his eyes were gentle on Quasimodo. He couldn’t find pity in either of their faces. The candles shone a halo around them. 

“Yes?”

The quirk of her lips was a little exasperated. “Come _here,_ Quasimodo.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “I don’t understand.” It didn’t seem like Esmeralda to make fun of him, but surely that was what was happening. Somehow, horribly, she had seen his innermost thoughts. The world was full of cruelty; he’d learned that long ago. 

She smiled, insisting. Slowly, Quasimodo walked over to them and knelt. Esmeralda clasped his hand in her own. His heart thundered in his chest as she leaned over to brush a soft kiss against his lips. He felt a touch on his knee and looked down to see Phoebus’s hand resting there. Phoebus was smiling at them. 

_“Me?”_ Quasimodo’s voice was shaking. Esmeralda and Phoebus shared a look, then nodded. Quasimodo let out a sobbing breath. How was this possible? All his life, he’d thought he was born to be alone, and now, here were these beautiful people, angels almost, looking at him like they wanted him to stay.

He clasped their hands in his. A perfect fit. He marveled at Esmeralda’s delicate fingers, the calluses on Phoebus’s palms. Something vast and sublime and peaceful swept through him. Tears welled in his eyes. Could they somehow all belong here, in the bell tower that was his home?

Quasimodo and Esmeralda curled around Phoebus as the night grew deeper. Quasimodo wondered at the feeling of their bodies warm and safe beside him. The candles flickered brilliant shapes onto the walls.

Quasimodo closed his eyes. The door to the tower was locked tight; no one would disturb them. The bells would watch over them tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> This ship has me all 🥺. What an excellent OT3, really. There should be so much more fic for them!
> 
> Title from Someday, of course. (Highly recommend checking out [the Voctave version](https://open.spotify.com/track/7tjYu6sHzIghVJwYM1dAE2?si=06S1b15MQQey_w8cCzriUQ), which is truly sublime.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed ❤️


End file.
